Not Without You
by Gre3nleaf
Summary: It's the end of the line for them both.


**Not Without You**

 **My interpretation of the ending of Avengers 4 (it's not actually gonna happen… I hope!) Based partly on a tumblr(?) post I saw a little while back.**

* * *

Of all the _ways_ to die.

Of all the _places_ to die.

Of all the _times_ to die.

It _had_ to be this one, didn't it?

They'd won the war. Thanos was dead. Yes, there were casualties on their side too, but those people had fought bravely and would be greatly honoured for what they did to protect the earth. There was nothing more they could do. They couldn't bring them back. It was too late for them. They had reached death's doors already, and there was nothing that could save them from that…

" _Help!_ Somebody help!" Bucky's screams echoed around the forest he was in. His eyes were wide, searching for any sign of life, hair a tangled mess, face and clothes splattered with blood and dirt, metal fist clenching and unclenching. He had gone into the forest later into the battle to fight off Thanos's minions who had landed their ship a while off. Some Wakandans had gone with him. It'd meant to be an easy mission; kill them, and then return to the real battle. But something had gone wrong. In moments, he and the Wakandans were surrounded by another force of aliens that the original ones had secretively called in. He'd had enough fight left in him to keep himself alive a little longer than everyone else, but he was growing tired by the minute, and death was becoming a welcoming sight more and more as the clock ticked.

The aliens, on the other hand… they were powerful. _Strong._ They were slashing and slicing at him with all their might. And he'd almost been hit.

Almost.

" _Steve, no!"_

He could still remember it. His best friend had shot into the scene like a bullet out of a gun, stopping right in front of Bucky. _He'd_ been hit. _He'd_ gone down. _He_ was dying.

And Bucky had attacked Thanos's minions with a new-found vigour, slashing and slicing right back. His own yells rang in his ears, head pounding, heart racing.

This couldn't happen.

He was _Captain America._

He couldn't die _now!_

"Bucky…" He turned around, seeing Steve reaching out for him. In less than a second, he'd moved back to where he'd set his best friend up comfortably against a large boulder, using his own jacket as a pillow. "Hey, pal," he said, trying to ignore the crack of his voice, "how're you doin'?"

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but a cough interrupted his words, overtaking his body as he heaved with each breath. Bucky helped him, placing one hand on the back of his head and one between his shoulder blades. "It's okay," he said, though the words were meant more to comfort himself than Steve, "let it all out."

And he did.

Blood followed blood followed blood followed blood…

Both his face and the ground beneath him was painted red by the time the soldier had stopped coughing. He sat back up and leaned against the boulder, grasping Bucky's hand in his own as he shut his eyes and focused on regaining his composure. Bucky felt a tear roll down his cheek, yet he didn't reach up to wipe it away. His eyes sub-consciously moved down to Steve's torso, where a gaping wound was still leaking blood. It was enough, even for this man, to kill him, and he knew it.

"You jumped in front of me," the older man said, breathing in and out. In and out. In and out. "Why did you do that?"

"You'd do… the same."

He would.

"I need to go get help, Steve," he told him, making a move to stand, but Steve kept a firm grip on his best friend's hand, pulling him back down. "N-no. Stay with me… please."

"Steve, you're gonna _die_ if that wound doesn't get treated fast."

The Captain shakily laughed, moving uncomfortably as the action jarred his body. "I'm gonna die anyway, Buck. No need to make a scene."

What was _anyone_ supposed to say to that, let alone his _best friend?_ If he left him now to find someone, the chances of him being dead by the time he came back were high. But, if he _didn't_ go, all he'd be doing here was watching and waiting for him to take his last breath. _"God,_ I wish Tony was here," he mumbled, not loud enough for Steve to hear. It was a sentence he'd never believe would have ever come out of his mouth, but here he was, wishing for a man that had tried to kill him more than once. He didn't want to be alone. He _couldn't_ be alone. And Tony… he'd know what to do. He'd help.

Bucky's brown eyes looked at Steve, a sudden onslaught of memories rushing back into his head like a tidal wave. He remembered the times they'd shared together, both good and bad. The girlfriends, the trips to the movies, the arguments, the jokes. Steve's eyes opened and he gasped in pain, hand shooting down to where Bucky had tied a makeshift bandage around his torso. He shook his head as the Winter Soldier moved to help him, gently batting away his hands. "It's okay, I'm okay, it's okay," he repeated like a mantra, breaths coming in quick torrents, now.

Bucky didn't know what to do. He had _no idea_ what to do. And so he continued to kneel there, squeezing his best friend's hand like his life depended on it. "You're gonna be okay, Stevie," he said, the nickname coming back to him like he'd been using it every day since they'd reunited.

Steve smiled, a trickle of blood seeping out from under his top lip. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I'm gonna be just fine." His blue-green eyes locked onto Bucky's, immediately seeing the glistening tears there. "Hey," he croaked out, "don't cry. It's gonna turn out okay."

"Not if you _die!"_ The older man was panicking now. He could see Steve's face growing paler every second, signs that his life was leaving him. "Don't die, buddy. Please, don't die." You'd have thought he'd be used to it. He'd seen many deaths in his life. This was nothing new.

Except it was.

Because he'd never lost someone that _meant_ something to him.

"I've lived a good, long life," Steve said, "even though- even though seventy years of it was stuck in ice." He smiled as that drew a short laugh out of his best friend. "The o-only regret I have… is not spending every day with you."

Bucky's tears were coming fast now, cascading down his face like a waterfall and mingling with the blood on the ground. His brown eyes were shining as he looked down at the dying soldier, and he bent his head, a sob racking his body.

"Don't worry about me, Buck. You'll always be m- my best-" he shot up again, turning his head to cough out more blood. Bucky was there in an instant, hands placed back on his head and in between his shoulder blades. Steve was shivering now, his teeth chattering, and every breath – or gasp of air – he took seemed to be a huge effort. As he turned him slowly around again on his back, his heartbeat sped up even more as he noticed the Captain's eyes beginning to droop shut.

"Hey!" he called, shaking the man. "Stay awake, Stevie! Stay _awake!_ Come on, bud, don't go!" He turned his head. _"Somebody help!"_

Steve reached back out for Bucky's hand, placing it on his chest, exactly where the star on his uniform had once been.

Exactly where his dying heart was.

"You'll always be my best friend, Buck, and I'll al… I'll always love you." Tears were streaming down his own face now, streaking the blood and mud as it went. "You gotta go and live your best life now."

"No," Bucky cried, "not without you!"

Steve looked up. Tears were clinging onto the end of his dark eyelashes. His hand and Bucky's were covered in red. His face was covered in cuts and scrapes. The hole in his side was still pouring blood. The wind was soaring through the air, whipping up his hair. He glanced around him, his blurred vision taking in the trees and the grass and the birds. This wasn't such a bad place to die.

And Steve Rogers smiled, eyes resting on his best friend one last time. "It's the end of the line, pal."


End file.
